The Cursed One
by ReworkedBeauty
Summary: Chapter 1 of The Cursed One Diaval is cursed by a witch, and must now obey whoever owns his ring. This ring falls into the hands of a powerful witch, whose motives are unclear.
1. Chapter 1

pre style="font-size: 9pt;"ttDiaval drew a small dagger, gritting his teeth in outrage. He felt his muscles move, clumsily running out to meet the powerful witch. It was a poor strategy, one made in fear and reckless panic. His mistress cowered behind him, putting her hope in the fact that he could defeat a terrifyingly magical witch with a small dagger.

He would have left long ago, long before any army showed up, if he could have. Hell, he'd be all the way in a different kingdom right now if he wasn't trapped...But here he was, locked in a crazy curse and letting various witches control him at their leisure.

He flung the dagger out at the woman's face, and she tossed his hand aside with a strong arm. Even without magic, she was stronger than he. Diaval began to prepare his mind for pain, and possibly death. Who knew with these witches?

With a bolt of cracking light, she flung Diaval across the room. He slid across the floor and snapped his head into the wall. Immediately his head blurred and the world seemed numb and soundless. He could barely see flashing colors dancing outside of his eyes.

Suddenly he was griped with so much pain, he couldn't help but cry out. The back of his head bled badly, a pulsing, white hot pressure shooting down from his head and into his eyes and temples. His sight returned, and through his tears he saw the form of his mistress collapse onto the ground, purple light streaming from her body and into the victor's. His sight began to fade as a gold ring began to glow on the dead witch's finger. The victorious witch snatched it up, looking at it curiously. She turned to Diaval just as his consciousness slipped into a needed sleep.

The man woke up in a bed. An uncomfortable bed, for certain, but still a bed. The very fact that he was alive proved very good news. When he tried to look around, he felt a painful headache start, but he opened his eyes anyways to see his surroundings. White cloth set up as temporary walls, rows of beds with multitudes of wounded men and women. He had been placed in the infirmary.

"He's awake!" cried a female voice, "Go get the Queen!"

Diaval sunk into the bed again, closing his eyes against the harsh light and colors of the world. After a few minutes he felt a presence beside him; not comforting, but not quite intimidating.

"What is this?" The presence said with a stern tone.

The man opened his eyes just enough to see what she was talking about. She carried his ring.

He let out a sigh, "It's my curse." Adjusting his legs, he shifted around on the bed, finding it difficult to get comfortable.

"What do you mean?" She demanded.

"Whoever owns that ring owns me. A witch tied me to that ring several years ago, and I've been a slave ever since. You own the ring now so I guess you're my new mistress."

The queen looked taken aback, "What kind of magic is that? I've never heard of any sort of spell that could force obedience."

"It's an old magic..." He replied, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his head, "An evil magic. Enacted by the most powerful being in this world."

The woman sat on his bed, making his head tilt to the side and relieving some of the stress on his wound.

"Who might that be?" Asked the woman. Diaval didn't like the tone in her voice: It was hungry. Hungry for what?...power? Blood?

"I don't know her name, I met her on the road, but the power that came from her was overwhelming," he lied.

The woman seemed disgruntled. She stood from the bed and brushed away the wrinkles in her scarlet red dress.

"Sleep then, cursed one. I'll speak with you later."

Diaval obeyed...like he always did.

His dreams were a mixture of memories, blending together into confusion.

Maleficent smiling sadly, telling him that it would be okay. Phillip dying in his arms, gasping out a few final words. Élania cackling wildly, putting his ring on her wrinkled, ugly finger.

The raven woke up in a cold sweat. The infirmary was dark, and the sweat on his skin began to chill with the bitter wind making it's way through the cloth. He steadied his breathing, then felt his body begin to rise out of bed. Pain blossomed in his head, but he couldn't stop. He had been summoned. The cursed man walked out of the infirmary, making his way down a row of tents to the large scarlet tent on the end. He brushed past the tent flap and walked straight past a sleeping guard, into a section of the tent that was completely covered in red, white and black drawings. He pulled the coverings away and stepped through, his hands shaking with the effort.

The witch lay in bed, rolling his ring around in her fingers. She looked up in shock when he walked through, and then gasped. Diaval bowed slowly, then collapsed on the floor as control of his muscles was given back to him.

The young woman got out of bed and grabbed him, pulling him up onto her bed and pushing aside his hair to check his wound. The sights around him started to blend once more, and the world faded away, leaving only the dulled color of scarlet and a frantic whisper of "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"/tt/pre 


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up in her bed. A woman sitting in a chair beside him stood and walked out of the room.

"Wait..." He muttered, but she closed the curtains behind her with a tone of finality. Diaval felt better, he wondered how long he'd been sleeping... The curtains moved aside and the witch came through. She sat down in the chair and watched him.

"Are you feeling any better?" She asked.

"I am. Though I'm incredibly thirsty." She nodded and called someone into the room, sending them back out to get a cup of water.

"I apologize for the other night, I didn't think the curse was so direct. I didn't mean to actually summon you."

"You are apologizing?" He said with a disbelieving snicker.

"I am," she insisted, "You were injured and should not have been moving." He propped himself up on an elbow. His head spun from laying down for so long, but other than that he felt no pain.

"Tell me, what do you plan to do with all your power?" He asked. It wasn't sarcastic or spiteful, he genuinely wanted to know. The witch straightened, her expression taking on a more formal face.

"I am using my power to rid the kingdom of the threat of the witches."

"Aren't you a witch yourself?"

"Yes...but I don't believe the way they do."

"I assume that after the other witches are gone, you will take their place as Queen of the kingdoms of Man and More?" The witch looked shocked and a little bit hurt.

"My intentions are pure, cursed one. I wish to rid the Kingdom of all witches' rule. Including my own." Diaval slowly sat up, intrigued.

"So...what? You'll hermit yourself? After killing all those witches, you'll have collected all of their power. You're just going to hide it all away and never use it?" The witch glanced down at the floor.

"Something like that." A moment of silence passed between them before she said, "Tell me your name, cursed one."

"Diaval, mistress," he replied. She gave him a light smile.

"I am Claire, Captain of the Scarlet Army. Temporary Queen of those who would no longer be ruled by the wicked witches." Diaval stood up, precariously bowing on his wobbly feet.

"I am at your service, Mistress Claire."

"Because of the ring?" She asked. Diaval lifted an eyebrow, looking at her with a hint of snobbery.

"For now, yes." She nodded. A person came in with water and Diaval drank it all at once. The cool liquid felt good on his throat, and put him in a better mood. At least on the outside, Claire seemed to be a decent person. But Diaval had had his fill of decent people in his life. Almost none of them had been what they seemed.

"Come, Diaval," she ordered, "You're going to help me plan my next move." They both walked through the camp, and Diaval got a good look at it all. The camp housed an army of people. Farmers, beggars, middle-class men: they had all formed together to stand against the tyrannical witches. Claire led him to a tent where a small group of people was gathered around a map of the kingdom. The map had been divided into six circles, and three of those circles were marked out in big red X's. The witch walked to the chair at the front of the table and sat down, dignified. Diaval acted on his instincts and stood beside her chair, staying quiet and watching with interest.

"Since the time of Maleficent's betrayal, the witches have ruled this kingdom with an iron fist," Claire began. Diaval felt like slapping her. How dare she speak so venomously toward a person she'd never even met. How could she know what Maleficent was like? How could she know what had truly happened all those years ago... Diaval stopped his mind from traveling to such a painful memory. He snapped back to attention when he heard Claire mention his name.

"This is Diaval. He will be a valuable asset to us because he was the slave of a witch, and so might have inside information." Oh if only she knew just how "inside" his information was. Diaval stopped himself from shuddering, knowing that all eyes were upon him.

"Our next target is the witch named Liona. She rules the north-west side of the kingdom and is known for turning her subjects into swine when they displease her." The group muttered angrily for a few seconds before Claire stopped what she was saying to look at Diaval. He hadn't noticed his hand clenching her chair...it had tightened at the name of Liona. How could she have noticed that? Claire stood up, moving closer to him.

"Do you know of her?" She whispered.

"She held my ring for a time. Most of the witches have owned me for some period of time. They liked to trade me as a gift every once in a while." Claire sat back down. The group had heard and was looking closely at the raven. He sighed and approached the map, grabbing a spare piece of paper and a piece of charcoal. He began to draw an outline of a castle...

"Her castle is built on a small island. The only way to get there, without her permission, is with magic. Claire will have to forcibly bring up the drawbridge from the water so that the army can pass through. The castle has no gates, so once you are on the island you can make your way into the courtyard without a problem. She has a small army which is mostly armed with short-swords. Your main concern will be the boiling water that they like to pour on people's heads. There are four main points where they have giant pots to pour it...here, here, here and here." Diaval circled four points on the castle map, making sure everyone could see.

"Once you get past the water, defeating the army should be no problem, they're really not trained for hand-to-hand combat. They're so certain that nobody can get to the castle without Liona's permission that they've never put much effort into it." Diaval looked up into the rapt faces around him.

"Please make a note of this," he said in a shaky voice, "There are innocent people living in that castle. People who are required to live there merely for the entertainment of that pig of a witch. Do not harm them! They have never hurt a single soul and never will." The heads nodded in agreement. Diaval looked back at his mistress and she nodded encouragingly.

"Liona will stay inside her library, on the third tower from the left," Diaval drew an arrow pointing to where the library was, "She has many enchantments protecting the staircase, so you have to be careful to disarm each one. Take your time! There's nowhere for her to go." He mainly spoke to Claire now. His eyes started to blaze with a fiery passion...almost a blood lust. It frightened him a bit, but after what Liona did to him, he couldn't help but want to see her destruction.

"At the top of the stairs is a huge library. Don't let it fool you, it's not where she'll be. Go directly to the first bookshelf you see on the right wall and pull down the candlestick. It will open up another staircase which will lead you straight to her hiding place." Diaval looked around, realizing he might have gotten carried away. A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before Claire stood.

"You heard the man! Get to work! Start forming the battle strategies now!" Desperate hands grabbed hold of his map and the group began to talk loudly. Claire took Diaval by the arm and dragged him outside, letting her strategists take control.

"What are you not telling them?" She said.

"You're quick to pick up on things, aren't you?" He said, making a mental note.

"I'm good with emotions. And you're easy to read." He took a moment to organize his thoughts...how should he explain himself?

"There's...a group of people. They are outside of the innocent group, but not evil like Liona is. They simply fear her..." Diaval felt a lump rise in his throat.

"Most witches punish cruelly and without mercy. But Liona doesn't just punish. She hurts for the sake of hurting. And she doesn't like to do it alone. She has a group of "friends" who she makes hurt people. They are too afraid of her to say no, so they do things. Terrible, torturous, evil things. All of them eventually grew to like it, and now they act more as a big gossip party than anything else. I included them in the innocent group because they never had a choice at first...but when it comes down to it they've done things that would make a villain blush." Claire looked at him, peering into his very soul with deep, perceptive eyes.

"We're you one of that group, Diaval?" Diaval's gaze shifted to the ground. The lump in his throat got bigger, and he had to force a tear away from his eye.

"My dreams are haunted by the things she made me do. I don't want to talk about it."

Claire seemed troubled, "Did you grow to enjoy it?" He looked up at her with a stony expression.

"Never. Every day I wished more and more that I would die, yet I could not disobey. The others could have said no. They could have chosen to die rather than do those things. I would have, but they didn't...and it disturbs me."

"So would you count that group as innocent, or a threat?" she asked him, bringing focus to the situation he was trying to describe.

"I honestly have no way of knowing," he answered. Claire readjusted her dress, shaking out some wrinkles.

"Thank you, cursed one. I'll keep that in mind."


	3. Chapter 3

By the next morning, the Scarlet Army was ready to go. Diaval had been set with the task of packing up the infirmary with the women and it had taken almost all night. He'd gotten two hours of sleep before the horn was sounded and he was summoned by the Queen's side. The dark rings under his eyes could have been considered a side effect of his mood, however, because after making several biting remarks towards Claire's servants and impatiently pushing a man aside, Claire deemed him absolutely unapproachable and then seemed to have forgotten about him. There were few horses in the army, so Diaval attempted to walk beside his mistresses' horse. As the day grew hotter, however, he found his feet lagging. People began to pass him until he was the very last person in the long succession of people. He stared into the ground as he walked, unhappy.

Diaval was unhappy in general, but that was a situation that had become so common to him he almost didn't notice it. Instead, he noticed his aggravation. Sleepless and sore though he was, he began to feel that this touchiness came mostly from his apprehension. It would take no more than a week to enter Liona's land…and with all the talk about how evil the witch was, the raven found it harder and harder to forget about the time he spent as Liona's slave.

How had it come to this?

Diaval thought back to happier times. A time when Aurora served as Queen and Maleficent and he protected the Moors. Those times had been so simple and wonderful. He felt himself smile at the memories as they flitted through his head. Suddenly, the person walking in front of him halted. Diaval had to stop himself from toppling over, and he bit his tongue as a curse almost spilled out of his mouth.

There were children around…he couldn't go about cussing in front of them. Instead, he clenched his fists tightly and asked politely what was going on. The people in front of him turned around, surprised.

"We've been marching for half the day. We're going to eat and rest."

Had it been half the day already? He looked around at the people; they had begun to sit under whatever shade they could find, and were bringing out food.

"Hungry?" said a voice.

A bag fell into his hands and as he looked up he saw it had come from Claire, who was still sitting on top of her horse. Diaval held his hand out and Claire elegantly dismounted, then sat straight down in the grass and pulled out her own bag. Diaval sat down alongside her and looked into his bag. His stomach growled as the scent of bread and cheese reached his nose.

"You know, when I think of a Queen, I don't think of a young woman sitting in the grass eating a packed lunch."

"I think of myself more as an army captain than as a Queen."

"Oh yes, you hold absolutely no power over these soldiers. They wouldn't die for you in battle or anything like that."

Diaval knew very well that ever single soldier in the Scarlet Army would gladly give his life for Claire's. Claire must have known it too, because she blushed in ugly splotches on her forehead and ears.

"Well I don't plan on abusing that power like the witches do."

He shrugged, taking a big bite out of his cheese and bread together.

"You say that now. But power is tempting. It's almost irresistibly seductive. I find it hard to believe that you won't be their Queen after all of this is over."

"I won't really have a choice…" she sighed quietly, more to herself than to Diaval.

Whatever that had meant, her expression had darkened and she began to gloomily watch the sky. Diaval finished his meal and then stared up into the sky with her. He saw a few birds flitting here and there, and the sight made him sadder than anything he had seen all day.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking at him.

"Nothing," he lied. He stood up from the grass.

'I'm going to help prepare everyone to march again…" he muttered, but Claire grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back.

"I order you to tell me what's wrong."

Diaval narrowed his eyes at her, trying everything in his power to disobey.

"I miss my wings," his mouth said without his permission, "I used to be a raven and I'm used to being human now, but I still miss the freedom of flying."

The Queen stood, tilting her head to one side in surprise.

"You were a raven? That makes so much sense! The way you stand, the way you eat, it was all so birdlike that I didn't know what to make of it. Who turned you into a human?"

"Mali-um…Aurora," he stuttered.

Claire stared in shock, "You knew the old Queen? What was she like?"

Diaval felt dirty, but he knew he had to lie. He had to keep the secret…

"Just as wonderful as the rumors say. She was beautiful and fair…" he pushed the next words out with effort, "kind-hearted and absolutely lovely."

Claire grabbed his shoulder and stared into his eyes, her face alight with excitement.

"Were you there when Maleficent betrayed her?"

Dirty, filthy, disgusting lies. He was a horrible person for spreading them.

"I was in the midst of it, the shame and horror I felt was indescribable."

"And you were cursed soon after?" she asked.

"A few days later."

He wondered if one day he'd ever be caught. Not that it much mattered. A big part of him wanted to be caught, simply so the truth would be known.

Claire exhaled sadly, "To think that you have so much story behind you. You truly have led a tragic life, cursed one.

He thought to himself, "You have no idea."

"Diaval…" Claire said quietly, "How would you like to fly again?"

"What?' was all he could respond with before the Queen touched his shoulder and he felt himself changing. Shrinking down into his old, familiar form. With a triumphant caw, Diaval stretched his wings and looked over every single feather, crooning over each one.

Claire smiled, then said to him, "Go! Fly before us and notify us of danger if any comes."

Diaval wasted no time, he burst from the earth like a star shooting across the sky. He was flying again, with the wind in his feathers and the sun straight above him! Making wide circles above the army, he enjoyed the feeling of his wings on air while he waited for them to get ready to march once more.


	4. Chapter 4

pre style="font-size: 9pt;"ttThe raven flew for the rest of the day, watching for danger but never truly expecting any. When he finally landed, after the sun had set in a creamy mixture of reds and golds, the army had set up the tents and Claire was waiting for him on the outskirts of camp. He flew down, perching on the ground beside her. She quickly turned him into a human, then seemed relieved to see his smiling face.

"The freedom...the open sky! Mine for the taking," he said breathlessly. Claire laughed and patted him on the shoulder, "Come on cursed one, we'll be starting the food soon."

They walked to the center of camp, where a large fire had become the hub of the army's bantering. A few people came out with flutes and fiddles, starting up an earthy tune that brought back good memories for Diaval. Women began to dance and men clapped along, laughing and trying to talk over the noise. The few children who had tagged along with the army played tag, weaving around the legs of the adults. A young girl almost careened into Diaval's legs before stepping back fearfully.

The raven knelt down to look at her, and gave her a genuine smile. She tentatively smiled back, and when he grabbed her hands, she followed him out to where the women were dancing.

Diaval felt himself let go of his worries for the first time in a long time. He simply enjoyed the music and danced with the little girl, twirling her around until she squealed with laughter. The beat sped up and his feet sped up with it, drumming the rhythm out on the crackly dirt floor. Other people began to join, and soon a huge crowd of dancers spun around the fire, giggling and shouting and tossing each other around. His breath began to feel short, but he only went faster, spinning and spinning.

Before he knew it, the song was over and everyone was clapping. He bowed out of forgotten habit an kissed the little girl's hand.

"I thank you for this dance, my lady." He said in between breaths. She curtsied awkwardly, then ran off to join her friends.

People had put food over the fire while they'd been dancing, and suddenly the smell of roasting pig caught his attention. He shuffled away from the dance floor as another song began, collapsing on a patch of grass not too far away. Claire came over soon after, giving him a peculiar stare.

"What is that look for?" He demanded.

"I just never imagined that you would be the type of person who liked children."

"Well, I guess you imagined wrong then."

It was strange...the man he used to be had been a lot like this dancer he had suddenly found himself as. He had loved children, and dancing and everything lively and fun...but as the years passed and as he had gone through one trouble after another, his smile seemed to have disappeared. His love of life had dimmed. His very soul had seemed numb, and blurry.

Maybe all he had needed was a good chance to spread his wings again. He hadn't gone in his raven form since Maleficent, and that had been much too long.

"Come..." said Claire,"Dance with me."

"Always your servant, mistress," he responded and so the two of them joined the waves of dancing couples.

Claire was a decent dancer. She obviously hadn't had any practice at a true royal ball, but she seemed to have natural body rhythm. The way she moved her hips and arms was graceful and elegant while powerful and somewhat tribal at the very same time.

The two danced, and the people around them gave them plenty of room to maneuver.

By the end of it Diaval was drenched in sweat. Normally he couldn't stand the feel of sweat, but he felt so utterly elated by the music and the cheerful attitude of the crowd, that he hardly even noticed.

He had rested for a few minutes when another song started. He told himself he wouldn't dance again. He was far too tired for that!

But when he saw a young woman, standing near the edge of the circle, he found himself leaping to her side and sweeping her away.

The night went on like that, with dancing and eating and laughing and talking, for several hours before Claire encouraged everyone to rest for the march tomorrow. The "encouragement" put an end to any sort of frolicking, and the army immediately made it's way into bed. Diaval found a bed to sleep in in the soldier's quarters, and within minutes the raven had fallen fast asleep.

The next day was almost the same as the last, except for the fact that Diaval had begun to grow bored up in the air. He started to come down every once in a while, checking up on his mistress, flying around the heads of the children to keep them entertained and just watching the people. They were quite entertaining, their conversations mainly centered on what they hoped the future would hold. Most of them seemed to believe that Claire would be the new Queen, they discussed it quite often.

As the sun looped overhead, there was a disruption in the line. A small group of soldiers had suddenly begun to fight, causing mayhem and putting everything to a halt. Diaval perched on a tree limb nearby, watching as the witch drew near. As soon as she had dismounted, the men stopped fighting and looked at her like schoolboys caught doing mischief.

"Who started it?" She said simply.

Two men were pushed forward.

"My lady," said the first one, "This man was trying to steal my property!"

"Property that is owned by the army collectively!" Shouted the second man, "We are an active group of people who work together to accomplish an important goal. What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine! You have more than enough to eat, while I and my wife have nothing! It is a social responsibility to share what you have with your brothers."

The first man was about to shout back when Claire advanced, putting them both into silence. She looked into the eyes of the second man, staring him down until he squirmed.

"That soldier has worked hard for his property. It is his. He is not obliged to share it with you, nor is he obliged to let you take it from him. Maybe he ran into more luck than you did, but that doesn't give you permission to steal what isn't yours."

The second man grit his teeth, seething out, "But that isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair!" Claire screamed, freezing everyone around her in fearful shock. The witch stepped back, as if she were shocked herself. She took a minute to gather her wits, then said, "The sooner you get used to it, the sooner you can move past it."

Without another word, she mounted her horse and rode to the front of the line. The Scarlet Army followed, pondering her behavior and gossiping about the men until late at night when Claire finally decided to halt. The camp was made, but there was no dancing this night. The people were too busy talking. After eating, Claire walked a ways from the camp and sat down at the side of a creek. Diaval debated joining her. If she wanted to talk she likely would have brought him along.

But what if she needed to talk?

Diaval slipped away from the chattering army groups and went to sit beside his mistress. She said nothing, only stared into the rippling water.

After a few seconds, Diaval uncomfortably noticed that a tear was running down her cheek. He shifted his weight, not sure what to say.

"I'm dying, Diaval."

The sentence was so abrupt and sudden that it took a while for him to take in the meaning.

"Wh-what? What do you mean?"

Claire continued to stare into the water, her expressionless face adding another tear to trickle down and land on her fingers.

"All this power is killing me, it's too much for my body to handle."

Diaval turned his body to face hers.

"Well...well why don't you stop? You plan on killing more witches? Getting more power? That will only-"

"Kill me faster," she finished for him.

He didn't respond. He didn't really need to.

"You don't understand, I'm the only one who is powerful enough to kill all of them. I can't just stop. There are more people that have to be freed. More people who need to be shown how wonderful it is to have your life to yourself, you know?"

"You would sacrifice yourself for them," he said. It wasn't a question, it was more of a realization.

"Of course. Wouldn't you?"

"Well...I might say that I would...but when it came down to it? I'm really not sure."

"That's where we differ then. I've always been sure. I've just known: My destiny is that of a martyr. I've come to accept it...even be a bit proud of it."

"That's not true. I can hear it in your voice. You're angry."

Her strong wall of confidence crumbled more and more with every tear that fell from her eyes.

"No..." She whispered.

"You're angry at life. You want desperately to save them, but you don't want to die to do it."

"No...I'm not selfish like that."

"It's not selfish, Claire, it's called being smart. You shouldn't just throw your life away. Is there any way to survive? Any way to save them and live?"

Claire turned to him, looking into his eyes with that deep stare.

"I've been trying to find a way. I've been reading all of the books and asking the experts and doing everything I can. I've looked through almost every magical resource in the kingdom. There is no way."

"There must be something...the newer resources don't speak of a witch's magic. Their magic is older, darker and more dangerous. You need to find the old books and look through those."

"Diaval I don't have time!" She cried out, "I believe I have a few more months left, but I have three more witches to kill. I'll have survived past expectancy if I can even make it to the last one."

"Well send someone out then! Send someone to find the books and bring them back."

"Send a soldier, who joined only to fight for his own freedom, to find books that will do nothing to help him in any way? Any of my soldiers would do that for me, but I simply cannot take them away from their cause. I have resigned myself and I am okay with it."

Filthy, dirty lies. Straight from the mouth of a woman who might otherwise be perfect. He felt like crying, simply because of his anger. Why wouldn't she just let go? Do what she could to survive?

Maybe if...

"I need you in this battle, cursed one," she whispered, almost reading his thoughts, "Liona is my most dangerous enemy yet, and you know her better than anyone. I need you to come with me to the library."

"Do you have a death wish, girl?" He erupted, standing up and beginning to pace along the creek.

"It wouldn't be a problem for a single soldier to volunteer to try and find those books!"

Claire bit her lip, and Diaval hoped that she was rethinking her flawed logic.

"Where would they have to go?" She asked.

"Someplace dangerous, certainly," he admitted, "But if we let him know of the risks, and he volunteered anyways..."

"How dangerous?" She asked, standing up and wiping the tears from her face.

Diaval bit his tongue, his lying instincts desperately wanting to kick in.

"Extremely. He would have to travel through the Dark Forest in the Moors."

Claire glared at him, "Absolutely not!"

"So you'll put your life on the line for them, but you won't let them do it for you? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, cursed one, now do not speak of this to me again!" She burst, and with a huff she walked away back into the crowd.

Stupid girl. Stupid, oblivious girl. If the soldiers only knew what she needed they would go off themselves, without her blessing and risk their lives anyways.

Diaval paused. She had ordered him not to mention it to her. She had not, however, ordered him to mention it to someone else. The raven ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. Oh, how he missed the old times, when everything was simple and there was only happiness./tt/pre 


	5. Chapter 5

The camp was ripe with fear the night before the battle. News of the desertion swept through the soldiers like wildfire, and made them begin to doubt themselves. It had been days after the incident, but on the eve of battle Claire knew it finally needed to be addressed.

"My fellow soldiers, I know that you all have heard of the desertion of Nathaniel Croper. He was good soldier who was dedicated to the freedom of man. But stories of Liona took his courage and he has left us without a goodbye. I will not lie and tell you that there is nothing to fear. There is plenty to fear, we're in a war goddamnit! But if we cannot risk this, our worlds will be filled with an unimaginable fear far worse what this witch could do to us. Our failure would be the insurance of the pain and suffering of our own children, and their children…and every generation to come. Even if we must sacrifice the little lives we have right now, we must give our all to ensure the wellbeing of the world, or it will be destroyed. Nathaniel did not see things in this way, and I hold no ill will towards him for not agreeing. Our fight will be legendary. We will go down in history as saviors of the world."

The men yelled in a half-hearted battle cry, then set about going to sleep.

Diaval felt his fingers twitching. He hoped desperately that Claire wouldn't ask him what he knew about Nathaniel. The camp was blurry with a red and golden hue, making everything seem slow and bleary…almost sticky with the color of the fire.

Claire approached him, glancing into his eyes.

_Don't think about Nathaniel…Don't think about Nathaniel…Don't think about Nathaniel…_

"You know something about Nathaniel don't you?" she asked him.

He let out the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"No of course not," he replied, knowing that the end was near.

"Don't lie anymore, cursed one, you're awful at it."

"Yes mistress…" he said, "I just want to let you know that I'll have your back tomorrow. You're an inspiration for the soldiers and for me and I-"

"Don't change the subject. Tell me what you know about Nathaniel's desertion."

Perhaps he could still find a way to squirm out of this.

"I know nothing about Nathaniel's desertion."

Claire's eyes narrowed, ready to play the game.

"Tell me what you know about why Nathaniel left."

_Darn it all. _

"I told him…" his mouth closed as he tried to describe it… "Something. And he decided to go off in search of your…" his mouth closed once more, "Something."

"Diaval…you didn't tell him about my predicament."

"I did. And he left immediately towards the Dark Forest."

"I thought we discussed this…"

"I saw that you are currently blinded by, whatever emotions are blinding you"

_Very articulate. You should be proud of yourself Diaval, you dumb bird._

"I took it into my own hands. I don't feel sorry for it, though I will take my punishment as you see fit."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.

"If he dies his blood will be on your hands," she whispered.

"If he dies your blood will be on my hands as well," he whispered back.

She walked away, her feelings shrouded. Diaval found himself mindlessly wandering the camp. What did he really think about the Scarlet Army? Obviously he and they had the same goals in mind and they had the means to do it. The soldiers were all loyal and trustworthy to a fault, willing to die for a cause they believed in. But he couldn't help but still feel uneasy about Claire. Even after her confession, he felt like he didn't really understand her. Her humbleness and desire to be a martyr were nothing but masquerades to the truth. He could tell that she was passionate about her concept of freedom, and she certainly hated the witches…but she was hiding something from him. And Diaval knew from experience that there was nothing more dangerous than a dark secret.

The wind was bitter in the morning. The Scarlet Army finished its march faster than anybody wanted it to, and before they knew it they were standing before the shores of a lake. Black water lapped at their feet, dark with the reflection of the gloomy sky. Claire stood in front of the men, her arms outstretched as if she were calling out to the sun. Her lips moved in a silent incantation. The soldiers shuffled their feet nervously. Nobody was frightened of Liona's army; it was Liona herself that had every man jittery. Diaval stood beside the chanting witch, trying to hold within the sting of ice running up and down his spine. Even the outline of the castle proved able to bring back very memory. Every drop of blood, every blade, every smile. He felt a surge of disgust roar inside his soul. Pushing it away with a snarl, Diaval drew his sword, ready to put an end to Liona and her court of blood.

The drawbridge began to rise out of the water, the world was filled with the sound of water cascading off the golden brown wood as it rose in the air, fitting in between the shore and the castle courtyard neatly. A line of men had gathered on the opposite edge, armed only with shortswords. Their expressions couldn't be distinguished, but several were pointing at Claire and a few ran away deep into the castle walls. Claire stopped chanting as the bridge clicked into place. A few seconds passed by; Diaval glanced over at her face and saw that she was staring into his eyes once more, trying to decipher, trying to read. He was sure that she saw everything about him…all the fear and the disgust and the confusion itself. Her face was as expressionless as a wall, but she winked at him with a half-smile. She raised her sword and turned to face her army, suddenly becoming the pinnacle of honor and bravery. Her golden hair flew about in daring curls and her eyes flashed, bluer than the water at her feet.

"For our future!" she screamed, before turning around and throwing herself into a run. Diaval raised his sword above his head and took off after her, joining in the cry that the Scarlet Army had begun. Like a wave of sound they flew across the bridge and crashed into the small army on the other side. Diaval was in the first impact, and his eyes immediately met the sword of a tall man opposing him. He brought his sword down in an arc, meeting the man's strike with a force that knocked the blade away. He grunted, leaning back his shoulders as he pulled the sword back. Time had seemed to slow to such a pace that he was able to observe everything that went on around him and plan every move meticulously. Perhaps it was his bird-like nature, perhaps it was simply his will to survive. With a thrust in he disposed of the man and with a thrust out he glanced around to find Claire. She was already way ahead of him, a line of men laying in pools of blood in her wake. As Diaval ran to catch up with her, he was hit with the smell of iron and dirt, a smell that brought on a memory.

_"Diaval, cut her ear off."_

_"Madame, I object to this form of punishment," he whispered as his hands moved by themselves. Shaking, he picked up a knife from the table and grabbed hold of the young girl's head. She began to scream in fear. His eyes were wide and smeared with tears, his entire body shaking as he fought against the spell. But no matter how hard he willed, his body continued to act on its own. The knife was brought closer to the girl's head and her screams stopped as she looked up at him with noiseless terror. _

_"Madame, I beg of you…" he said in a raspy voice. His vision was blurred as the tears streamed down. All he could control was his tears. His hands paused suddenly. _

_"You beg of me? After calling me 'the filthy carcass of a maggoty pig'…you expect me to let you off your punishment simply because you decide to beg?" _

_"Madame please, I could never live with myself," he croaked through sobs. He didn't care if he had to lose his dignity, he only cared that she stopped and he wouldn't have to do this awful thing. _

_"Oh Diavel. Sweet, sweet Diaval. I know that you could never live with yourself. But we're not going to stop with the ear. No…you're going to take apart this girl piece by piece." _

_He screamed as his hands moved, shaking and fumbling, but moving nonetheless. _

Diaval's eyes clouded over with a tear that burned its way down his cheek. He ran until he had caught up with his mistress. Looking around him, he saw the Scarlet Army climbing the walls of the castle, scaling the stones and holding up full-body shields. Water poured down from above, but their shields protected them and the water bounced off, steaming until it hit the courtyard floor.

"Come Diaval," said Claire. Her majesty had died with the onslaught and when he looked at her he saw only a young woman. Her face was sad, but determined, and in that flicker of emotion he saw in her eyes, Diaval felt he understood some parts of her. The part that hated killing, and the part that knew it had to be done.

"We have a witch to destroy," she said, holding out her hand to help him up the last step.

"Yes, mistress," he said in return.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Warning: Language and dark themes contained in this chapter. _**

**_Thank you for the wonderful reviews. They consistently inspire me to continue writing. _**

The castle was taken within minutes and the castle doors were opened for Claire and her servant. Diaval stepped into the familiar place, focusing only on the men around him. The servants, maids and cooks had been gathered in the main hall and were being briefed on what was happening. They let out cheers of joy and started clapping as Claire walked past. She smiled at them and entered the left hallway. Diaval followed her, biting his tongue as the cheering subdued into a fearful silence. They remembered him, of course: the witch's favorite method of punishment. He couldn't help but glance towards them and trace the scars on their bodies that he had put there. They had never known about his curse, he hadn't been permitted to tell them. He hurried past and left the Scarlet Army nervously assuring the people of their safety. He caught up with Claire and led her onwards, through the bedrooms and hallways that could have been a maze for someone without knowledge of the palace.

The two of them walked in silence, preparing mentally for the battle to come. Diaval knew that this would be Claire's strongest foe yet, but with the strength of three witches added to her own? He had no idea how much control she had over that power…he could only hope that it was enough. He glanced over at her. She wore a stony expression as she marched to the climax of the battle. He pondered what sort of hardships she had suffered, to be so determined against the witches. Had her family been killed? Had she witnessed the slaughter of innocent people? Looking at her, he found her to be a bit of a puzzle. She dressed like a soldier, trousers and shirts and all. She kept her hair long and stood like a woman, but her face was battle-hardened with grief and sacrifice and…

With a gasp he thought he recognized a look of guilt hidden in her eyes. It was an emotion he had grown so used to, he might have recognized it anywhere. But like a flash of lightning it was gone from her eyes, hidden once more. Whatever was hiding behind her mask of confidence, it was burning brightly, possibly so much that it was burning her up.

They finally reached the steps of the tower and began to climb them.

"There will be seven traps along the next staircase. She changes them frequently so it will be up to you to notice and disarm them," he explained.

"Right," she said, hurrying her pace up the spiraling path. They went up and up and up until they finally walked into the library. It was dark and gloomy, lit only by a fire in the fireplace. The shadows on the ground flickered with the dance of the flames, and Diaval felt as if he were stepping into quicksand as soon as he laid a foot on the stone floor.

"C-Claire!" He cried out as he began to fall. Claire had stepped at the same time, and he could barely see her as his world began to spin, sinking frantically. He reached out for her, trying to take a step. He couldn't move his legs and he could barely move his arms. His head seemed to loll without his permission and the spinning world around him began to darken around the edges.

"Mh…" he grunted, unable to speak as his lips numbed and fell slack. He felt as if his body was melting, slowly dissolving into a gooey heap on the floor, devoid of muscle or bone or even…quite possibly…the ability to think. His vision grew darker, developing more into a tunnel as the walls spun faster and faster, reaching speeds the he could have never even imagined. He felt his knees give out and his chest was plunged into whatever sinking pool he'd trapped himself in.

The light was gone and he was now enveloped in a world of blackness, sure only of his demise. His fingers clawed at the last pockets of air above him before his head was plunged into the watery spell that would be his end. Suddenly, a voice resounded around him, calm and collected but very clear.

"Diaval," the voice spoke. It was so incredibly loud and so close that he felt like he could touch the sound, cling onto it like a rope lowered down to save him.

"Diaval close your eyes," commanded the voice. Confused, he glanced around within the blackness, looking for the source. He felt something touch his hand, something that he could not see. But it felt very real. His fingers curled around the thing and squeezed it tight…he could feel the world continuing to spin around him and the spell was plunging him deeper and deeper into the abyss, but the voice was soothing…comforting.

He obeyed, closing his eyes. Nothing felt different, but he was ready to listen.

"Good," the voice boomed, "Now I want you to pay close attention to my voice. Just listen to what it is saying. And feel my hand in yours. Grasp it as tightly as you need. This is reality. I need you to accept only these things as reality."

Diaval suddenly felt a sharp pain in his foot. He screamed, sure that his bones were bending…folding in on themselves.

"Diaval pay attention! Feel my hand," said the voice, almost sounding concerned. The hand that had grabbed his was slowly moving up his wrist, gripping it tightly. Another invisible hand grabbed his other wrist and pulled them up to press against something soft.

"Diaval, this is my cheek. Think about what I look like. Think about what I feel like. Think about what I sound like. This is reality. Your pain is not reality. This is reality," chanted the voice softly. Diaval started to shake. This was Claire…she was trying to get through to him. His brain sparked and he remembered her face, drawn up in a look of sadness. She was going to die someday and she knew it. Why was she still travelling to her death? What guilt could she be hiding within her heart?

Suddenly, a prick of light shown in front of him.

"Good, good. Keep doing what you're doing. Come back to this world, cursed one. I need you to help me."

The light was growing gradually, coaxed by the sound of her voice and the feel of her hand and face.

He felt a wave of calmness wash over him, before he was shocked by a stab of pain in his other foot. The light disappeared and he started to scream. The pain crept from his feet and began to travel up his legs. He felt as if each bone was slowly being ripped to shreds. The world began to spin faster than ever before and his brain dulled until all he knew was the pain.

"Diaval!" screamed the voice.

The volume of it shook him to his core. He felt himself blink.

Suddenly, one of her hands was on the back of his neck, cool and soft. He felt his head being yanked forward and with a shock he realized that Claire's lips were on his. She kissed him and his stomach dropped. The light came back and his vision followed until he could clearly see her face, pressed up against his, her eyes wide open, staring into his. The room wasn't spinning anymore, and he felt his feet solid upon the ground. Perhaps only a second passed before she pulled away, but for Diaval it felt like a lifetime. After pulling away, she looked into his eyes, searching for something…anything. He felt the betraying blush creep into his cheeks and a smile graced her lips.

"Good! I'm glad you're back!"

He glanced around. He was standing exactly where he had stepped. His feet were not broken…his clothes were not wet from a swirling whirlpool. It had been an attack on his mind.

He nodded, brushing his hair back with his fingers. He felt at a loss for words.

"I…I'm grateful, of course. But why? Of all the things you could have done…"

"A kiss was the most shocking. You were already in pain, so more pain would have done nothing to help. I needed to do something that you wouldn't have expected. And I was correct in my assessment wasn't I."

He nodded. She turned away from him, staring hard at the bookshelf before her. She glanced back at him, pointedly jerking her head in the direction of the candles.

"R-right," he muttered, still phased. He knew he had to clear his head; that spell had really done some work on him. His legs were still shaky, feeling the mental aftereffects of the enormous pain they'd been put through. He walked up to the right candle and pulled. The bookcase around him clinked and clanked as it was slowly pulled apart by a hidden machine.

"You know everything I told you about the traps?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied quizzically.

"She's probably changed everything. And that trap we just went through is most likely her attempt to stall us."

"Stall us? What is she planning to do?"

Diaval took a breath, finally able to think again.

"I would bet you anything she heard rumors about you. She's trying to prepare her most dangerous spell, one that you won't be able to defend against. We have to stop her before she completes the ritual, otherwise you may not have any hope of winning. With all these time-consuming traps, I hope we can make it," he explained with a sinking feeling.

Claire closed her eyes. Her face lost emotion and her arms slowly sunk until they were hanging loosely at her side.

"Out of the way," she whispered. Diaval stepped aside, not sure what to expect.

Claire's body began to almost buzz. A light was beginning to radiate from it, a soft, yellow light like a candle's. It was warm and comforting, but contained a power so great that even Diaval could feel it. He gulped, wondering what she was going to do.

Claire's eyes shot open and he stared in shock. Her eyes were pure gold, her irises were missing or covered…replaced by what looked like a sheet of light. She raised her hands and he saw small arcs of energy jumping from one finger to another. Her fingertips glowed with radiance and power and he felt inclined to fall to his knees, but he didn't.

She raised her hands up high, pointing up to the top of the staircase. She began to chant, starting at a low whisper and growing louder with each passing second. After a minute Claire was almost shouting and the light around her was shooting around with bolts and splotches that looked like the lightning on a stormy night. Her voice grew powerful, like it had been earlier when she had called him from his spell. When her voice was like that, it was commanding. You couldn't help but listen to it, because it contained a power that was held together by a sense of respect and justice. It was a voice that you could trust, one that you could depend on. It vaguely reminded him of Maleficent's voice, back when she had been Queen of the Mores.

The energy around Claire's body, in a matter of seconds, gathered at her hands and shot up into a pulse of light, shaking the staircase with a feeling that should have been a sound but one that Diaval couldn't quite hear. Followed were the sounds of fizzing and cracks above them that grew so loud that Diaval felt inclined to step away from the stairs in case the tower should fall on top of him.

"Her spells are gone. But we have to hurry, we have less than a minute to make it to the top."

Diaval gaped at her, unable to believe that she had gotten rid of them, and unable to believe that she thought he could make it up an entire staircase in under a minute.

"Go!" she yelled, barreling up the stairs.

"What happens if we don't make it in time?" he shouted at her, taking off after her and bounding up the steps two at a time.

"We likely die!" she shouted back, a crazed smile on her lips.

He didn't respond, he was already running out of breath, but he would have given her a piece of his mind if he'd been able to. Then again, it wasn't as if they'd had much choice in the matter.

They had made it to the top before he knew it. Seconds after Diaval slid onto the top floor, the staircase fizzed and cracked once more as the traps and spells reinstalled themselves.

Diaval looked away from the stairs and around the room. There sat Liona, cross-legged in the center of a circle she had drawn on the floor. It looked like she'd drawn it in blood and a quick look at the body laying beside her let him know where the blood had come from. From the clothes of the corpse, he had been one of Liona's 'friends'.

The eyes of the witch were closed and a small smile danced across her face. Diaval couldn't object to the fact that the evil witch was very beautiful. She had an ivory complexion and long eyelashes that just barely touched her skin when she blinked. Her lips were naturally pink and she had a slight blush on her cheeks that reddened when she got excited. A sight to behold…he knew that Liona had entrapped many men in her beautiful snares. Her hands were wresting lightly in her lap, her bloodstained fingertips just barely grabbing hold of her dress. She'd always been the least 'witchy'-looking witch Diaval had known. She favored long dresses that showed off her curves and she put up her hair in different designs that her 'friends' copied soon after.

Her hair was down, currently, but it was still artificially curled in places as if she had torn down her hairstyle hurriedly. He felt slightly satisfied, thinking about her horror when the Scarlet Army had been spotted.

"So you've come," Liona said, her voice just as nasally and nasty as ever.

"I have," replied Claire, standing tall.

The witch's eyes snapped open, revealing a glare that seeped into Diaval's soul.

"I wasn't talking to you, bitch."

"Oh?" queried his old mistress as she glanced down at his clenched fist, "Found a new favorite? Don't like it when I call her that?"

His anger seeped up into his chest and into his head.

"Poor, poor Diaval. He can't help but fall in love with every single mistress he collects. Isn't that right, dear?" she asked with a smile.

"I never loved you. I did nothing but despise you, you evil, filthy-"

"Oh please spare me the name-calling. You're awful at it," she whined, her lips pouting. Slowly, she stood up from the circle of blood. Claire put a foot back, getting into a defensive position. Like a crack of thunder Liona shot a blast of air that knocked Claire against a wall and held her, pinned against it. Claire's eyes grew wide and expressionless and her mouth started to move silently. Another attack of the mind…but this time Liona had prepared.

"We have some time alone now," Liona said, walking close to him.

"Get back," he called out, trying to sound fierce. His voice cracked in the middle of it, making him feel weak.

"You've been all around the territories, you little slut," giggled Liona, "How did Mercinia treat you? She'd had her eyes on you for a while before I gave you to Zenodine. I'm glad she got to enjoy having a slave like you for a while before _this_..."

She turned and pointed to Claire.

"This…this murderer destroyed her."

She dared call Claire a murderer? _She_ dared? Indignation and anger swelled up in him once more, but it was shut down as Liona drew nearer. She reached out and touched his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"Did you miss me, my pet?"

"Don't touch me," he said, barely able to contain his disgust.

"I missed you too," she said, pulling away and holding him at arms-length.

"We can go back to having fun now. You can have all your little friends back!"

Flashes of the people down in the main hall screaming, bloodied and frightened streamed across his mind.

"I think they missed you. And I know you missed them," she said, an evil smile on her face.

"Be silent, you pig," he spouted at her, his eyes staring her down in a battle of wills.

"Oh but I think you do. It's something that you've never been able to forget. The feeling of taking a life? The feeling of drawing blood? It's intoxicating. Addicting. You're just like me, you silly crow. You crave it. Lust for it."

"Never," he said, his voice nothing but a whisper, "You forced me. You forced me every time."

"And each time you put up less and less of a fight. Would you like to know a secret?" she asked, turning away from him and walking a few steps.

He didn't want to know. He wasn't going to listen. She was a liar…a woman who enjoyed causing physical as well as emotional pain in others.

"The last couple of times I commanded you to do it, I didn't have your ring on me at all. You secretly enjoyed it; I could see it in your eyes. You convinced yourself that it was excusable because you were cursed, you awful person," she flirted.

The world began to crack around him. The guilt…the faces…the blood…everything was clawing its way out of his subconscious and demanding to be faced. He felt as if he had been struck in the heart. His chest began to hurt and his stomach twisted every which way. This was something he had always known but never admitted. Something that he had known would come to the surface eventually.

"You are a torturer," breathed the witch, "You are a murderer of children and a death toll for the innocents. Their faces will haunt you for the rest of your life and your afterlife will be payment for all the sins you have committed."

"No," he said flatly. He couldn't say anything else. The other witches had beaten him until he could barely move. They had made him serve them until he was weak from exhaustion. But Liona had been the worst, because Liona had made him face himself. She had turned him into a monster and then made him live with it and that was the reason that he knew he couldn't face her. She was a mere reflection of himself…a possible outcome of his future and that thought paralyzed him into submission.

"You will not hurt Diaval anymore," said a voice that rang through the room like a bell.

Liona turned to Claire and screamed as a golden flash of light smashed into her. Claire stood strong, her hands raised in attack. Her face was angry, her eyes flashing with hatred and disgust. In a blink of time she appeared before Diaval and held out an arm in front of him, shielding him from the witch's attack. A bolt of blue light enveloped them for a second but he was untouched as it faded away. Claire shot forward and a battle of lights and energy ensued. He couldn't quite understand what was happening, but Diaval tried to follow. Claire shot several small bursts of air at Liona, knocking her down but Liona spun on the ground and shot a spell at Claire's feet. It hit her and sent her flying into a wall. The wall crumbled around her but she was up in an instant, her eyes smoking with anger.

Diaval still felt as if his world was shaking. Was it true that he had decided to do that to those people by himself? He knew deep down that he would have. He had enjoyed it. He had actually enjoyed doing those disgusting things. So did it matter if he really had or not? The fact was that he was messed up in his head. Why had he enjoyed hurting those people? He hadn't liked it at first…but as time went on…Why had he used his curse as an excuse? He had so many questions for himself, but he couldn't think straight enough to answer them.

Suddenly, the room had caught fire and the witches had disappeared, dissolving into forms of smoke that fought above his head by the vaulted ceiling. He could see the form of an animal come out of one every once in a while. Liona's panthers were ferocious looking, their teeth bared. Claire's birds were in flight, swiping down through the air to dissolve once more into smoke. He could barely see what was happening, let alone understand. He only hoped that Claire was winning.

After a minute or so, a form was thrown onto the ground and the body of one of the witches jolted as it hit the floor. The smoke puffed and dissolved into dust that sprinkled the body of what he could now see was Liona. Her face had an expression of fear and pain…her eyes following the dusty form of Claire as she descended from the ceiling. As she moved she slowly changed back into her human form, her face and then her hands and then her feet poking out of the smoke, moving in stride with her gait. Finally she walked straight out of her own smoke which dissolved thereafter, landing lightly on the floor next to the defeated witch.

"This is for the cursed one," Diaval heard her whisper before holding out her hand, pulling a blue light out of Liona and guiding it into her own body. It was a steady flow, but there was so much power that it took a long time. His mind was blank, a defense mechanism that he hadn't had to use in a long time.

Finally Claire was done. She stood for a moment over the body of the fallen witch, staring sadly into her dead, glassy eyes.

Suddenly she approached Diaval and put a hand on his face.

"Diaval. What she said, was it true?"

And Diaval dissolved into sobs, falling onto his knees and losing complete control.


End file.
